Here and Now

This past Friday was August 10th.  That day marked one month since we'd been "home" and back in Winnipeg. 

"Home" came fast and furious.

We arrived to a yard full of signs saying "welcome back" and "we missed you". 
And that was lovely.
To me they said, "you were not forgotten" and "we saved a place just for you".

We were welcomed home with cold beer waiting in the fridge, food in our freezer, and tomato plants that had lovingly been planted in our garden.

As I walked through our empty house that first day, before the movers began to unload the truck, it all felt so clean
and sterile
and simple.

There was no mess to clean-up - no crumbs on the counter or drips of milk in the fridge.
No ring around the bathtub or wet towels lying on the floor.
No unmade beds or piles of laundry.

It was home - but it wasn't.

And there lies the tension.

They say "home is where the heart is" and truth be told, my heart hadn't had a chance to catch up to my physical body.  It still hasn't.

The house looks like "home" now. 
The laundry and crumbs and wet towels have all found their rightful places.
When I open the door it smells like "us" now.  That familiar scent that every family owns.
And mostly, it feels like home too.

But there are times - more than just a few - where I catch myself missing what we left behind with such longing, that it takes me by surprise....
    
       It's a picture of a smiling face I've put on our piano, or an image of the ocean at low-tide when the tide pools are full and warm and salty and oh - it's then I can smell it.  And taste it.
 
      It's an email from a friend who sounds just like I remember her with news and stories and the words tumble off my screen and sound just like I can hear them in my ear....

      It's a quote I read that I know I just have to share with our dear friends who walked alongside us as we asked more questions than had answers and lapped them all up, never afraid or threatened....

And so I am home.
(At least most of me is).
And home is good.

But I'm beginning to wonder if the parts of me that don't feel home yet, might not ever be.
And maybe I want some of me to stay near the ocean - surrounded by mountains and glorious green.
Maybe some of me needs to stay there.
(I liked that part of me.)
Perhaps she is best left where she emerged, and grew,  and wintered through the grey and the rain.

I know I'll figure it out. 
When a day brings enough time and space  to sit and think it through  -  feel it and weigh it.

For now I'll live in the tension.
At home.